


otherwise

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [55]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, M/M, Olympic angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: Kageyama’s hands tighten round his glass, knuckles going white as he fidgets in his seat. It makes Oikawa smile to see, that old restlessness; it is not the kind of smile he dispenses for the rest of the world, when he’s turning on the charm and needs them eating out of his palm.





	otherwise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 7: Free For All | originally posted [here](https://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/25713.html?thread=16409457#cmt16409457)
> 
> _When I open my mouth I'm so brutally honest_  
>  _And I can't expect that kind of love from you_  
>  _When you open your mouth your teeth are beautifully polished_  
>  _And I can't extract the pain you're going through_  
>  \- Morcheeba, ["Otherwise"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxn-fz9mjo4)

It seems an odd place to meet again. On the other hand, Oikawa supposes, it’s totally fitting, in its own way; this is the sort of place people go when they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. Or maybe Kageyama just wanted a drink. He probably just wanted a drink. He’s always been so damnably straightforward.

It sets Oikawa’s teeth on edge. He picks himself up off the bar nonetheless, heads over to the corner where Kageyama’s staring into a pint of beer.

“Tobio-chan. Aren’t you a sight.”

Kageyama looks up. There are lines under his eyes that weren’t there before. “Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa swings himself onto the stool next to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Do you make a habit of frequenting shady establishments like this?”

“Is this a shady establishment?”

“Mmm. Well. I guess that depends on your definition of _shady_. I guess I just didn’t think whisky and cigarettes were your _thing_.”

“I live around the corner,” says Kageyama. He leans forward across the table, tips his chin towards the half-open window, and Oikawa follows his gaze, down a street strung up with flickering neon signs, drugstores and bicycles and the odd broken bottle. It’s not what anyone would call a nice neighbourhood, but then again, thinks Oikawa, glancing back at Kageyama, he’s never been the sort of person who needed _nice_.

“I see,” is all Oikawa says. He takes a long drink before speaking again. “Well, if you don’t mind me saying, I know we haven’t met in a while, but you look like shit.”

Kageyama’s hands tighten round his glass, knuckles going white as he fidgets in his seat. It makes Oikawa smile to see, that old restlessness; it is not the kind of smile he dispenses for the rest of the world, when he’s turning on the charm and needs them eating out of his palm.

This, too, is an old smile, one he knows Kageyama will recognise.

“The Olympics not all they were cracked up to be, huh?” Oikawa continues, running a fingertip slowly along the rim of his glass.

Kageyama shoots him a pointed look. “Did you watch my match?”

“Of course I watched. You’re still my favourite _kouhai_ , Tobio-chan. After all this time, you know.”

Kageyama presses his lips together. Oikawa’s glass sings, a hum like splintering.

It’s not like Kageyama has to say anything. Even if Oikawa hadn’t watched it all go down on live TV, Kageyama’s always been the absolute worst at masking his feelings. Everything shows in the twitch of his mouth, the way his vein pops in his wrist, and the set of those striking eyes, so piercing, so unforgiving.

Oikawa knows about this brand of _unforgiving_ , turned inward. He is a master of it.

So he raises his glass again, lets the ice melt against his mouth; all his reassurances are frozen there, a windswept wasteland. He could make them sound nice, if he tried. He could say all the right things, only, to Kageyama, they would be all the wrong ones.

Outside, summer’s unbearable heat is a shimmer on the road, a scar seared across the city like a memory, gritty, still pricking. Oikawa keeps his pretty words smothered. Bides his time, tastes patience like sweat and alcohol on his tongue. Thinks, as he meets Kageyama’s gaze through the smoke: they have never seen each other more clearly, so sharp that all the edges hurt.


End file.
